


Creation/Destruction

by morphia



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-04
Updated: 2015-02-04
Packaged: 2018-03-10 10:46:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3287429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morphia/pseuds/morphia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Do you think we'd make good parents?" Shepard asked, holding his breath as Kaidan's arms tightened around him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Creation/Destruction

**Author's Note:**

> Shepard has some thoughts while enjoying his personal hobby.  
> Beta by runningondreams. THANK YOU.

Creation was not something anyone would naturally associate with Commander Shepard. The main reason for that was that he had a tendency to leave most places he visited in a state of utter destruction. Really, it wasn't his fault. He was the Commanding Officer of the SSV Normandy. On his shoulders lay the fate of a galaxy. It was a heavy burden to carry, but he had loyal crew-mates to rely on, who'd made the challenge, if not easier, then at least manageable. Destruction was easy. All he needed was a good sniper rifle, an incendiary round, and a little patience. Zaeed would've added a handful of frag grenades and a flamethrower. Liara would've made use of her biotic abilities, and James would shoot anything explosive on sight. He liked the style of pretty much all his crewmembers. Made sense, since he let them stay on board his ship.

His main mission was to destroy anyone who threatened the peace in the galaxy, be it the terrorist organization Cerberus, the ominous Collectors race, or the mythical Reapers. What ever could he do about the fact that wherever he went, enemies just seemed to pop out and start shooting? What could he do about the fact that the so many people in the galaxy wanted him dead?

Since no one he knew actually associated him with creation, it would probably surprise quite a few people to see him right now. He was hunched over a table, a slow smile set on his face, meticulously separating pieces from his latest model ship construction kit. It's a hobby he'd picked up during his days as a navy brat, following his mother around in the Combat Information Center on the ship she'd commanded. Most of his models are scattered across the galaxy in various vessels his parents had served on, since he was rarely allowed to take them with him when they moved to a different position. Now, though, having his own cabin allowed him to hoard a few in a tasteful display. He set down the pieces and reached for the instructions. He poured over them for a moment, setting the pieces in the order he was going to need them.

Building wasn't exactly like creation in the broader sense, though. It was a question he'd pondered before. Were the Geth created by the Quarians, or were they built? Was the Artificial Intelligence that guided the synthetic race a viable form of creation? It had certainly not been a conscious effort on the side of the Quarians, but in a sense, the created had outgrown their creators, and now the Geth were a formidable force in the galaxy, one to be reckoned with. Geth had no cute babies, though, only incredibly devoted platforms.

Species like the Krogan could teach him a few things about creation and rebirth, now that their disease was cured. A species that created so much new life so quickly, they had been devastated by the disease inflicted on them, but they rose again from the lowest point any species could reach: near extinction. The Krogan were masters of destruction, too. They were at least as bad as he was, but they had the ability to rebuild themselves, replenish their numbers. He paused his motions and blinked. Giving birth was one way to describe creation, wasn't it? And destroying enemies wasn't the only way to describe destruction. This train of thoughts did not agree with him at all, and he pulled a face at his yet-to-be-assembled model ship.

When Kaidan knocked on his door and showed himself into the cabin some time later, Shepard had just started to sink into a slight air of melancholia. Warm arms wrapped around his shoulders as a chin settled on one of them. "I didn't know you actually built these yourself," Kaidan's voice was smooth and almost silky in his ear. The low rumble in his chest gently soothing old wounds and new uncertainties. "They're masterpieces."

"Do you think we'd make good parents?" Shepard asked, holding his breath as Kaidan's arms tightened around him.

"Yeah," he said, just when Shepard was sure he wasn't going to answer. "I think we'd do alright."

"I've been thinking…" Shepard said, sensing the question hanging in the air. "About creation, and destruction. I keep going back to the creation of life… Giving birth."

"We could adopt one day, if you want," Kaidan said, his tone bland. As advanced as medicine had gotten, men still couldn't, for the most part, carry babies and give birth. That didn't mean they couldn't make a family together. It only meant they couldn't create it biologically.

"One day," Shepard nodded his head, and then leaned it back against Kaidan's shoulder. After the threats were defeated. After he'd made sure the galaxy was a safe place. That would be the time to think about a future - a real future - for Kaidan and himself.


End file.
